Unfiltered Story #109009

, , | Unfiltered | April 16, 2018

(My little cousins are rather picky. My uncle calls my dad and asks him to get five kids cheesburger meals, no condiments. He asks the worker for exactly this, and checks the food and sees it has condiments. He repeats FOUR TIMES before he finally asks for a manager.)

Manager: “Sir I don’t see your problem!”

Dad: *calmly* “I asked for burgers PLAIN with NO CONDIMENTS. That means no ketchup, no onions, nothing. Just cheese and patty and bun.”

Manager: “Oh I’m sorry sir. I will fix it.”

(My dad leaves content, sure it has to be right because I mean, a manager took care of it this time. He goes over and delivers the food to my uncle and my uncle distributes the food to his kids.)

Little Cousin: “Daddy? They messed up my burger A LOT!”

(We look over and the burger is dripping down her arm. They had purposely put EXTRA amounts of condiments on it to piss my dad off! This time my uncle went back. While he is a softy around his kids, he is a big guy with tattoos all over who wears all black and has a biker beard and is fiercely protective of them. I would have paid to be able to see that!)

Prison Break Your Tooth

, , , , , , | Learning | April 14, 2018

In 2001, I was a freshman attending college. The school had an excellent reputation for its technical and engineering programs, but a much less stellar one for its food. They managed to ruin every meal, including self-serve cereal — a fact that infuriated most students, as the same company would produce gourmet-level meals for parents’ weekend or other special events. However, as the school was located in the middle of a not-very-friendly city, and meal plans were a required part of tuition, most meals were taken at the school cafeteria.

One particular night, my friends and I went for dinner at the all-you-can-eat buffet, where one of my friends decided to have the manicotti. We were all talking, eating, and having a good time, when suddenly said friend got a very odd look on his face. He reached up and spit out a drywall screw! There was a drywall screw in his manicotti.

Naturally, we complained to the management. The manager in charge, of course, immediately declared it wasn’t their fault. It was, and I quote, “A manufacturing defect.”

What part of making manicotti involves drywall screws?

We continued to make our displeasure known, both to the management and to the school. Nothing was ever done about it. My friend was given a refund for the price of his meal, and was promptly ignored.

Of course, the story doesn’t end there. We later would discover that the same company that provided meals for our school also served the local prison, and that we were getting the same meals on the same days as them. We were literally eating prison food. It wasn’t until many years later that it occurred to us that that manicotti might just have been meant to go to the prison. We may have eaten someone’s prison escape attempt. There was probably some prisoner frantically searching through the manicotti, trying to find his smuggled screw.

To this day, I have never been able to eat manicotti.

Without Reason

, , , , , | Working | April 7, 2018

(One of the perks of my workplace is that we can ship out personal packages on the company account for savings that they pay back, within reason. Unfortunately, some people don’t quite have the same understanding of “within reason” as others do.)

Coworker: “Hey, can I bring a few boxes around later for you guys to ship?”

Me: “Sure, we’ll just need the full addresses and phone numbers they’re going to. Do you need any packing material?”

Coworker: “Nope, they’re all set; just need labels, thanks!”

(An hour later, a car backs up to the shipping dock door. It’s [Coworker], who opens the trunk to reveal it’s FULL of boxes.)

Me: “Uh…”

Coworker: “What’s wrong?”

Me: “You said, ‘a couple.’ There have to be dozens in there.”

Coworker: “Fifty on the dot! Here’s the list!”

(He tries to hand me multiple sheets of paper. They’re awkwardly stapled together down the side like a book, and it’s all handwritten, extremely sloppily.)

Me: “You know we have to do each one of these manually through the [Carrier] software, right? Could you maybe put this in an email to make sure we get it all down right?”

Coworker: “No, don’t worry; this is fine.”

Me: *trying not to outright call him on his poor penmanship* “Well, it’s still going to take a while. When do you need this done by?”

Coworker: “They need to be delivered tomorrow.”

Me:Tomorrow?! Wait, you come by at five o’clock, to give us fifty boxes you want sent out overnight?! All to different addresses, on a sheet I can’t read right?! NO!”

Coworker: “But you guys are supposed to do this!”

Me: “Yes, when it’s reasonable. This is not. If you got it to us first thing this morning, yeah, we could have done it, but the truck’s going to be here any minute now, and there’s no way we can get this done.”

Coworker: “Well, that’s just rude! I’m complaining to your boss about this!”

Me: “Yeah, have fun with trying to get him to side with you wanting us to stop doing our actual work at the end of the day to cater to you.”

(The kicker? He actually DID try to complain to my boss, who told him the same thing: actual orders come first, and there was no way we were creating 50 shipping labels in five minutes with a single computer and printer. On a hunch, we sent a joint email to the Human Resources representative, not to complain about the coworker, but in case they tried to complain about either of us. Sure enough, my boss ended up hearing how we were supposedly “excessively rude,” “abrasive,” and “racist” to him. That last one was exceptionally funny, as all three of us are white!)


Uwabaki Crazy

, , , | Learning | March 31, 2018

(When I still lived in the US, our teacher said a new student from Japan was going to join our class. Several days later, I’m a bit late coming to school — actually, I am often late — and I notice a pair of shoes sitting right outside the classroom door. Sure enough, the new student is inside, being introduced and answering any questions other classmates have about her.)

Me: “Are your shoes outside the classroom?”

Student: “Yeah.”

Teacher: “Why would her shoes be outside? But aren’t those shoes?” *points at her feet*

Student: “They’re classroom shoes.”

Teacher: “Classroom shoes?”

Me: “That’s what they wear in Japan.”

Student: “Yes, that is true. You know it?”

Me: “Yeah. We don’t do it here; we just wear shoes.”

Teacher: “Well, this is interesting.”

(In the end, sometimes she followed our ways and sometimes she still wore classroom shoes. The teacher had her put her outdoor shoes just inside the classroom instead of outside, though.)

There… Are… Four… Rolls!

, , , , , | Right | March 30, 2018

(I am working as a cashier. A customer produces a coupon for eight or more rolls of bath tissue. He then hands me a package of four “Mega Rolls,” which say, “4 Mega Rolls = 8 normal rolls!”)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but you don’t have enough product for this coupon to work. I apologize, but if you want and go grab another one of these—” *I gesture to the bath tissue* “—then the coupon will work just fine.”

Customer: “But it says that this counts as eight!”

Me: “Yes, sir, it does, but there are only four rolls in the package and that is what it will count as: four rolls, only. You will have to get another package of four rolls or more for you to use this coupon.”

Customer: “BUT IT SAYS EIGHT ROLLS! Get your manager or someone who is good at math, because it is clear you are too stupid to understand simple math!”

(I turn around and happily call out to my manager, who happens to HATE rude and stupid customers who don’t read the fine print. She comes over to see what the problem is and I explain the issue.)

Manager: “I’m sorry sir, but you will need to get at least another one of these packages to use this coupon. The coupon is stating the number of physical bath tissue rolls inside the package, not how many rolls it will replace when you use them. Do you have any other inquiries?”

Customer: “But it says EIGHT rolls, so I have enough to use this coupon.” *throws up hands and almost shouts* “Geez, do they even hire competent people anymore?! IT SAYS EIGHT, SO I HAVE EIGHT!”

(My manager just walks away, knowing that I can take care of it.)

Me: “Sir, it could say it that the four rolls equal eight, twelve, twenty-four, or three million rolls; that won’t change the fact that you only have four physical rolls. You must get another four rolls to make this work.”

(I pick up the package and point out the four rolls inside the package.)

Customer: “But it says—”

Me: *interrupting* “Sir, can you tell me how many physical rolls are in this package?”

Customer: “Uh…”

Me: “How many physical rolls?

(He stares at me for about 30 seconds and then says:)

Customer: “Eight.”

(This conversation has made me close down my lane, so no one will have to wait, and this response makes me want to slap this man so, so hard. I’ve even had a slight muscle spasm in my right hand. This part of the conversation repeats for about another two minutes:)

Me: “Sir, if you see eight physical rolls, you might need stronger glasses. To help you a bit, there are only four rolls!

Customer: “Fine, if you are to stick to telling me this won’t work without another of those stupid packages, I guess I don’t need any of my stuff.”

Me: “Okay! I will take all of these items back. Have a wonderful day, sir.”

(The manager returned with a donut from the bakery and wordlessly handed it to me, then took the stuff from my belt and walked away.)

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